


All's Fair

by Olfactory_Ventriloquism



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-20
Updated: 2014-04-20
Packaged: 2018-01-20 02:18:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1493068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Olfactory_Ventriloquism/pseuds/Olfactory_Ventriloquism
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Parks with grass are so much more wonderful than houses with curtains. At least if you experience them the way Rose does. A new version of New Earth</p>
            </blockquote>





	All's Fair

Rose Tyler had never been to a park. Not a proper park with trees and grass and such. She’d told her dad that he took her on a picnic every Sunday even though she never had been on one. Probably because she never had been on one. It was a concept she’d seen and heard about, but never experienced. Even the playground near her flat was all concrete and metal.

 

But now, she smiled as she skimmed a hand over the tips of the apple-grass, feeling it tickle her palm. She breathed deeply of the sweet smell and flashed this new Doctor a grin with her tongue peeking out.

 

Returning her grin contentedly, he settled back on his coat. This is something he would do, Rose thought as she examined the similarities of this apple-grass and the varieties she was used to from home, the old him. He’d prized out a small piece of her past and decided that he would fill a void in her experiences. He didn’t realize, didn’t understand that he filled a void that went so much deeper than parks with grass. The fact that he cared, when so many hadn’t did more to repair any damage than any action he could take.

 

Pulling her hand back from where it still fiddled with the unmown vegetation, Rose rolled so that she was on her stomach, facing him. He was telling her all about New Earth. Number of continents: 8. Languages spoken: nearly five hundred. Rose’s smile turned fond and wistful as she learned this new face. He could still talk for England, he could. His eyes still held all of Time and Space. And, she was learning, he could still make her heart thud with a smile.

 

Almost of its own accord, Rose’s hand stretched out, her fingertips just brushing his cheek bone. He stilled and fell silent. There was acceptance in his eyes, curiosity, hope and worry. He knew she needed to reacquaint herself with him. He needed to do that himself. He wondered what she would think. Would she like it? Would she leave because of it?

 

Her touch became more bold, and her questing fingers more daring. She traced the edges of his side burns, followed his brows, crawled down the bridge of his nose and ghosted along the edge of his lips. She didn’t actually touch them, but it was enough to make his hearts pound in his chest. As she learned the curve of his jaw, Rose smiled. He breathed a sigh of relief. Smiles were a good sign, right?

 

“How many?” She asked.

 

“Excuse me?” He raised a confused brow.

 

“How many times have you done this? How many yous have there been?” She clarified without reproach.

 

“Nine others. I’m the tenth.” He told her without compunction. Now was the time for honesty if he didn’t want to lose her.

 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” She asked softly. He stared at her, realizing that this must have been weighing on her mind since she woke to see him change. How could he explain? His hesitation made her blink, uncertainty tingeing her eyes. A tear beaded in her eyes and rolled down her cheek. Unbidden his hand rose to cup her cheek, his thumb halting the tear’s progress.

 

“I didn’t want to think about it. I didn’t want to scare you. It’s so much easier to pretend I’m immortal and ignore the consequences than explain that some day I might not be me, exactly, anymore and have you leave before it can happen.” He blurted. “Before I could abandon you.”

 

“Did you abandon me?” She asked frankly.

 

“No! Never. But, sometimes it’s easy for people to think that I did, to think this is my choice. I didn’t want to lose you, too.” He revealed desperately. Rose searched his eyes. Whatever she found there made her relax with a smile.

 

“Tell me now?” She asked almost shyly. The Doctor blinked at her, and a slow, broad smile settled on his features.

 

*

 

“You’re having me on!” Rose protested laughingly. “Celery?”

 

“Nothing says haute couture like a vegetable on your lapel.” The Doctor said saucily. He was telling her about himself in reverse. Starting with the one she knew and working back from there.

 

Rose shook her head. “I thought you couldn’t get any more alien than playing the spoons, but that takes the cake.”

 

“Don’t be so sure.” The Doctor said in a low voice. Her eyes snapped up to his but she saw nothing but good humor there, so she put it off as imagination. He vaguely remembered that he was supposed to go and meet someone, but they could wait. This, _she_ , was more important.

  
“How’d you keep it on, then?” She teased. “Use the sonic screwdriver to fuse it to the cloth, or some such?”

 

“No. I didn’t use the sonic screwdriver much in that regeneration. The tele in the TARDIS broke and would only play MacGyver repeats from when it gets declared a “Classic” in the mid twenty-second century.” Rose snorted. “I must say, I rather fancied myself to be as resourceful as him. But with better hair.” Rose giggled agreeably. “Oh, but before that, terrible hair. Absolutely rubbish, really. Though, that was only the beginning of my fashion tribulations that go-round.”

 

“Worse than a waistcoat covered in red question marks?” Rose taunted with a raised eyebrow. The Doctor looked chagrined.

 

“I’ll let you be the judge.” He said in a raspy sensual voice that, Rose blushed to discover, sent shivers down her spine. When he continued, his voice had returned to chipper. “I had this scarf that Andrew Lloyd Webber could have made a musical about.”

 

“Was the coat from your sixth regeneration a way of remembering this scarf?” Rose asked, her mouth keeping up with the conversation even as her brain tried to determine if he knew what he was doing with that voice that almost growled.

 

“Could be. Never thought about that.” The Doctor paused with a befuddled expression for a moment before springing back into action, or at least springing back into talking. “Long too, that scarf. Don’t know how I never hanged myself with it. But at least my coat was of moderated length and one color. Even if that color was maroon.” He muttered Rose sensed there was something he wasn’t telling her. She scooted closer, slightly invading his personal space so that she could hear what she was sure would be said sotto voce.

 

“And?” She persisted. “You’ve already told be about your sixth coat, and this one can’t be any worse.” The Doctor looked as if he weren’t sure he believed that.

 

“It was maroon…” He paused again.

 

“So you’ve said.” Rose reminded him. She inched closer, challenging him. He didn’t disappoint. She thought he might have been staring at her lips when he said the word that he had been struggling with.

 

“Velvet.”

 

*

 

The Doctor was aware that his walls were being sucked under the ground, fading from sight. It was a process that he’d started willingly, but now couldn’t stop. Long before he’d met Rose, there had been battlements, barricades, and crenellated castle walls protecting him from the Universe and the Universe from him. When he found Rose, new lookouts and checkpoints were installed.

 

When he changed, he hadn’t noticed how much these defenses had fused into one defensive compound. Rose asked for, deserved, and, so, received the lowering of one of his walls. For him to tell her about himself, about all his selves. And the first Domino fell. The guards of self-control, internalized taboos, and fear ran around struggling to maintain the defensive structures. They were failing. Rose was getting nearer, and now there was nothing to save her from him or him from her. He wasn’t sure which it was, since thought was becoming difficult with her scent and warmth growing ever nearer. The cage within him that held desire was open, though the beast remained chained. Still, its roar was no longer muted, and the Doctor thought that Rose had heard its call. He shivered in longing for and fear that she would answer it.

 

Now, he was barely a foot away and whispering. Though they were in the middle of a field, there was the feeling of a dark, seclusion around them, and the Doctor felt bewitched by it, by her. She licked her lips in apprehension, and his gaze was arrested by the movement, focusing darkly on it. His eyes than scurried back up to hers repentantly. Was that recognition in her eyes? Did she acknowledge his desires, his motives? If so, why wasn’t she running? For that matter, why wasn’t he running?

 

“Velvet?” She asked breathlessly, and time reasserted its flow around them. He thought that maybe she had intended it to be teasing, but there was too much between them to allow it. In fact, everything about the way they were sitting was teasing. The way he could feel her warmth through his jacket, the way she shivered as though against a chill, the way his breath goaded the strands of hair near her face to flutter…and just when had he gotten near enough to do that? Some distant part of him, some separate watch guard that had survived the detonation kept up the conversation with difficulty.

 

“Yeah, velvet.” He heard himself affirm distantly. “But the scarf really was the worst.” He would have been amazed at how his mouth was capable of this small yet coherent contribution while entirely on autopilot if his mind was not currently engaged in a struggle for control of his arm against that beast of his passion. The arm was slowly rising to brush a lock of hair from Rose’s face. He had never relished losing as much as when he felt the peach-soft skin of her cheek beneath his palm.

 

And then she sighed with a small smile, and the Doctor stopped fighting entirely. He stared down at the pink and yellow human to whom he had already surrendered his solitude when he asked her along, his pride when he asked her twice, his hearts whenever he thought of her, his life when he refused to let her burn for him. Each of these sacrifices had happened one by one, and the Doctor knew if he did what the beast demanded, he would be making all of them, all over again, all at once, and he delighted in it. This time, if he had any say in the matter, she would burn for him as much as he did for her with every breath.

 

His name fell from her lips: a question, a declaration, an invitation, a plea. Her tongue unconsciously traced the path that his thumb ghosted over her full lower lip. Had he meant to do that? And why did his lips burn with envy for that felicitous digit?

 

Social strictures, cut off by the fray, tried to semaphore headquarters. He should stop this, should lean back. But he was caught by the sudden gravity of her and so very far past the event horizon that he could never escape.

 

“Rose,” Her name was barely audible.

 

“Yes.” She said, and the word stormed the battlefield, and all fell who went against it. The Doctor’s lips met hers in a kiss that was neither tentative nor was it forceful, nor casual. Or, rather, it was all of those in impossible symmetry that none prevailed over the others. It was him, all of his facets happily presenting themselves at once. But, more than anything, it was a kiss that was filled with breathtaking adoration.

 

Rose gasped. Despite his provocative looks, his husky voice, even his nearness, she hadn’t expected him to act. Her brain was on overload, filled with shock and elation and a love that she was almost surprised to feel for this new Doctor. Her heart, it seemed, recognized him as the same man. Fortunately, although her mind was struggling to regain function, Rose’s body knew how to react. Her hands anchored him to her, one on his cheek and one in his hair. She leaned forward and forward until she was lying atop him as his tongue came into play. How he still had enough neurons to tease her so, she’d never know, but she intended to end that state of affairs.

 

Her hands slipped down to explore his chest as best she could through his many layers. When her fingers skittered along his hip, he moaned. Up until this, the Doctor had been passive except where they mouths were engaged, but this inspired a more aggressive approach. His hips bucked up into hers when she repeated the action, and his hands began to explore the territory that was now opened to him. He smoothed down the back of her periwinkle top, fumbled for her hem before sliding his hands against her bare skin.

 

Desire blazed through Rose at the feel of his fingers that weren’t quite as calloused as her old Doctor’s. She needed to feel more of his skin against hers. She tried to push his jacket off his shoulders, but he wouldn’t release his hold on her long enough for it to slide down his arms. Frustrated, she tried to work open the buttons of his waistcoat, but their position didn’t allow room for that. She squirmed in irritation, and the Doctor gasped, breaking off their kiss to pant for control at the feel of her practically wriggling against him.

 

Rose took this as permission to sit back, pressing herself more firmly against him. He whimpered, though he would deny making any such sound later. Raised above him, Rose had the leverage to divest him of his layers until nothing separated her eager eyes or questing fingers from the quarry she’d been hunting since she’d known of its existence.

 

Had she her way, the Doctor was about to dance.

 

Leaning over him, Rose held his shoulders down as she examined her trophy. From his messy hair, to his glazed eyes, to his swollen lips that gleamed with a trace of her lip gloss, over the slender torso and the slightly defined abs, down to where she straddled him and past where her sight was blocked, all this was hers. She’d known it almost as long as she’d known him. Trailing kisses along his neck, across his collar bone and down his chest, Rose mad a very pleasant, very thorough examination of her property.

 

“Rose.” The Doctor moaned when she reached the end of explorable territory and had cupped his erection. Rose rubbed her hand up and down his length, smirking when his eyes slipped shut.

 

“Doctor,” She murmured.

 

On that word, the gates were slammed shut by Self-Doubt. They were glass and indefensible, but enough for the Doctor to grasp her hand and still its movements. Her eyes rose to his in question.

 

“Rose,” he ground out, a crack forming in the glass at the taste of her lip gloss. “Are you sure? I mean…” He struggled for the words. It was too soon; she hadn’t had time to process the loss of the other him or the fact that she hadn’t lost him. She was human and no matter how brilliant his Rose (was she still his Rose?) was, it was impossible for any human to understand, assimilate and accept completely. But he didn’t know how to say that, so he stared at her, mouth open until his lips, entirely of their own accord, said. “New, new Doctor, after all.”

 

Rose smiled and another crack formed in the pane that held him.

 

“Look at me.” She commanded. He did so, and he didn’t have the strength any more to hide himself from her. In her eyes, he gave all of himself to her. It was a sight she rarely say, usually when he was too scared or tired to erect his shields. It was something that terrified nearly everyone who saw it, but if filled Rose with warmth. In his eyes were held all of Time and Space she knew, but more than that was fear, pain loneliness a righteous anger at the universe, and self-recrimination. But the water in which all of those emotions bobbed was love. Love for life, for people, places, and discoveries. Most of all, it was love for her of a magnitude she would never deserve, but would always try to do. Though she had seen it before, normally it was in cool blue. Now, she supposed, she would have to get used to it being in warm brown. It was the same look, though, and it was all she needed.

 

Her smile broadened into an affectionate grin as she placed a fond kiss on his nose.

 

“You’re still you.” She declared.

 

The Doctor was fairly certain, had he not been lying, half-naked beneath one delectable Rose Tyler who was lazily tracing circles around his nipples, he would have spent long minutes gaping at her in jubilant astonishment. As it was, he didn’t feel he had the time to indulge in such stupor and found that he rather preferred enacting a more active method in expressing the her how exquisite she was.

 

In a moment, Rose was beneath him, hair fanning out on his coat. He spent a moment tormenting the shell of her ear before whispering darkly into it.

 

“You’re wearing too many clothes.”

 

Rose grinned up at him. “Nice of you to get with the program” She told him, arching her back in such a way to remind him what the clothes were hiding. Certain she had his complete attention (Or, at least parts of her did judging from the glazed look in his eyes), Rose forced herself to relax and say oh-so-nonchalantly. “What’re you going to do about it, Doctor?”

 

Spurred to action, the Doctor’s trembling hands set to work on the infernal buttons of her top. Each inch of skin, as it was revealed, was explored and then worshipped so that, by the time the shirt was discarded, Rose was seriously considering never wearing a shirt again.

 

A little whine of frustration left the Doctor when he found that they weren’t yet on par. Rose smiled, a mixture of mercy and eagerness causing her to push him up just enough so that she could rid herself of her bra.

 

Tacit agreement soon had them both standing completely bared to one another. Everything stopped. For a moment, they stared at each other, bashful, eager to see what had been revealed to them, and excited by the fact that, after all the games and all the dancing around each other, they were here, and they were ready.

 

Meeting in a gentle kiss, they reaffirmed their desires. Rose found herself lying beneath him. The Doctor moved to acquaint himself with the area he’d purposefully avoided, areas that ached for his attention. Rose’s grip held him in place. His weight slightly cooler than her own, was something her dreams, her fantasies, had never been able to mimic. She imagined that his other self would have been heavier, but he was still solid and reassuringly real.

 

“Please tell me this isn’t a dream.” She whispered.

 

“This isn’t a dream.” The Doctor’s voice held a mixture of amusement and obedience.

 

“You always say that.”

 

“Always?”

 

“In my dreams.”

 

The Doctor grinned broadly. “You realize you just admitted to dreaming about this, about us.” His hands were beginning to wander lazily down her body. A finger grazed her nipple. Since this, the fist of such contact had been postponed for so long. Rose gasped at this light touch and both nipples puckered instantly.

 

“Since I’ve known you.” She admitted coyly.

 

“Were you planning on sharing that tantalizing tidbit of information?” He asked with a smirk as she almost held back a whimper from the teasing touch he was gleefully maintaining.

 

“You…you never asked.”

 

The Doctor considered for a moment. Rose was just about to slap him for becoming distracted in the middle of this when he spoke, his voice dark seduction.

 

“Do I do this in your dreams?” He lowered his head to her breast. Rose moaned.

 

“Yes.” She ground out.

 

After a few more minutes of learning the taste and texture of her breast, the Doctor released her with a smile.

 

“Good.” He said with a smug smirk. He shifted lower. “Do I do this in your dreams?” Without warning, the Doctor plunged his head between her legs and sucked her clit into his mouth.

 

“Yes!” Rose yelled, though he wasn’t certain whether or not that was a response to his question. He then bit down on the swollen nub. “Oh, God!” She yelled. It was too hard; it _hurt_ , but… “Oh, oh, God. Doctor!!” Rose hadn’t known she was ready and the suddenness and intensity of her orgasm shocked her as it seared through her every nerve. The Doctor licked her clit soothingly before abandoning it to taster her.

 

“You will now.” She said warmly. The Doctor beamed up at her. A small tug on his shoulders soon had her lips plastered against his, her taste spreading sweetly over her tongue. Rose’s fingers skittered down to run a nail lightly around the head of his penis. The Doctor growled as he thrust roughly against her. She tried to flip him onto his back, but the Doctor held fast, refusing to allow her to roll over.

 

“Please.” He panted. “Need you, now.”

 

Rose grinned up at him and traced his length thoughtfully. At his distressed hiss, she showed mercy.

 

“Yes.” She told him breathlessly.

 

In seconds, the Doctor was buried to the hilt. The abruptness caused Rose to cry out. There was a desperate need to his actions that was achingly reminiscent of her blue-eyed Doctor. His name fell from her lips in a sigh. A pounding rhythm was set up, stretching her and igniting her all over again.

 

Every feeling was branded into her memory. He was driving her to the edge, their tongues dancing to the frantic beat. Every time their hips crashed together, Rose could feel the vibration in her over-sensitive clit.  Her hands smoothed down the planes of his back, memorizing the feel of his muscles as they moved beneath his skin. Rose had never managed to come during the act itself of intercourse, but she was melting, even as everything in her tensed. His lips left hers and he nipped her earlobe.

 

Every wall he had erected between them was in ruin. No stone lay atop another. He was distantly aware that he was babbling, his every thought streaming from his lips undammed. He didn’t think to block them, didn’t need to block them, didn’t want’ to block them, and so they poured form his lips to bathe her.  “Beautiful” flowed forth, and “forever” dropped into her ears.

 

It was the “I love you” that caused her to cry out, her fingers raking down his back, her muscles clenching around him.  Four thrusts later had him spilling himself inside her. When he collapsed on top of her, she grinned lazily up at him.

 

“I love you, too.” She murmured before his lips crashed hungrily against hers, her words stirring him back to action already. Willingly she accepted his kiss, happily basking in these revelations.

 

*

 

Several feet away, a small, mechanical spider scuttled away. If it had been possible, it’s cheeks would have been red with embarrassment. It wouldn’t be a part of this any longer. The mistress could use the information gathered as she wished, just as long as it need never again approach that pair.

 

*

 

In Ward 26, an ancient patient surveyed the hill across from the hospital. His large eyes brought into focus a young couple full of love and eagerly learning to express it. Modesty made him glance away even as a warmth and verve infused him at the reminder of life. Nurse Hame was busily jotting down notes from the readings of the machines connected to him.

 

“I believe it’s time,” he told her gravely, “that the situation here be rectified.” Let the Doctor learn to live, the Face could teach these others.

 

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